Turnabout Is Always Fair Play
by Nikolai-Tesla
Summary: Third in my "Study in Fur" series: 'When other people have unwelcome rodents in their home...' 'They get a cat,' John replied without thinking. When Sherlock's eyes lit up, he continued hurriedly, 'Or buy traps. Most people buy traps.'


'Sherlock, I think we have mice.' John Watson pursed his lips, his face screwed up in concentration. He was focused intently upon the corner of a Weetabix box which _did_ appear slightly chewed.

'What? No we don't,' said Sherlock Holmes, absently at first as his hands sped over the keys of his laptop. (Well, _John's _laptop, really. His was in the bedroom. Again.) Then his head snapped over to look at John, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as he looked down his nose at his flatmate. 'Our flat is mouse-free. If we had a rodent problem, Harriet would have taken care of it.'

'Well, Sherlock, your cat is lazy. She's not doing her job.'

'Her _job_, John, if you can call it that, is to be a cat. She seems to be doing a perfectly good job of that.'

'But cats catch mice. It's what they _do_.'

'Feral cats catch mice, true. Harriet has been domesticated. She doesn't have the killer instinct that wild cats do.'

'Okay. Right. Fine,' John said as he prodded the corner of the Weetabix box. 'That's certainly _interesting_, Sherlock, but what are we going to do about the mice?'

'What do other people do when they have unwelcome rodents in their home?'

'They get a cat,' John replied without thinking. When Sherlock's eyes lit up, he continued hurriedly, 'Or buy traps. Most people buy traps.' He nodded enthusiastically.

'Yes, of course,' said Sherlock, straightening his suit jacket. He resumed typing on the keyboard but every so often would surreptitiously glance over at John out of the corner of his eye.

After a few minutes he jumped up suddenly and cleared his throat. 'Right. John, I'm going out.'

John nodded and waved Sherlock off, distracted by his less than systematic search for any more evidence of pests.

If he had stopped to think, John would have realized that he should have been afraid. Very afraid, indeed.

* * *

Sometime around half two John was startled awake from where he had drifted off to sleep in his armchair, drooling slightly on his half-finished cryptic. He jumped as the door crashed open and a very excited Sherlock Holmes burst into the flat carrying something small and gray and wriggling. And _mewling_.

'Oh, Sherlock, you _didn't_!' John admonished, wincing when Sherlock placed the little striped ball in his lap.

'It was your suggestion, John. And look! He likes you.'

'I didn't mean it! Traps, Sherlock! Why couldn't you have come back with some nice, inanimate traps?'

Sherlock merely nodded his head at the rather rotund kitten that was purring and kneading John's lap. He would never admit it, but John guessed he really didn't mind it after all. It was sort of comforting, actually, the feel of the soft, warm body and silky fur. He even waved a finger in front of the kitten's face, giggling as it batted curiously at the digit with a tiny paw.

When Sherlock looked like he was fighting back a smirk, John carefully set the little animal on the ground and stood up quickly.

'You shouldn't have brought him home,' he said, trying to sound reproving. 'And where do you keep getting these kittens anyway?'

Sherlock waved a hand dismissively and knitted his brow. 'Don't concern yourself with minor details, John.'

John's eyes widened in suspicion. 'Just don't tell me that you stole them from someone's flat.'

'Fine. I won't tell you that, then,' Sherlock grinned impishly.

'But really, Sherlock, you expect that sweet little kitten to catch a mouse?' He pointed at the animal who was chasing his tail in the corner.

'Oh, don't let him fool you, John. He looks innocent enough, but he's a fighter.'

At that moment, Harriet stalked into the room, eyes fixed on the new kitten. The round little cat took one look at the larger creature approaching and dashed over to hide behind John's legs, bumping into the man's calf in his haste.

'A fighter. Right..." John said doubtfully.

'Just watch.'

The kitten, though still wary of the strange dark cat, advanced from behind John's leg, eying the other animal cautiously. Harriet was still staring intently at the kitten, eyes flashing dangerously. The kitten stood his ground, though, and when Harriet approached, he took one look at her and swatted her on the nose.

Harriet's eyes widened and she blinked furiously. John held his breath as he watched her, worried that she would injure the kitten. What happened next was surprising, both to him and to the kitten; Harriet stood stock-still for a moment and then, amazingly, began to purr. She licked the kitten on the head, a clear sign of affection.

'Oh, good,' Sherlock said coolly as he watched the spectacle. 'Harriet found a flatmate after all.'

* * *

The next day, the new kitten had settled nicely into the flat and was enjoying his new, comfortable life.

'Sherlock! He's caught one! The kitten's caught a mouse!' John hurried over to Sherlock who was busily cross-referencing the natural habitat of Amanita mushrooms with towns in Southern Wales.

'I told you he was a fighter,' Sherlock said without looking up.

'Well, you were right!' John replied happily.

'Never heard _that_ before.'

John rolled his eyes, ignoring Sherlock as he watched his new pet. The kitten delicately grasped the mouse's tail and dragged its body to where Harriet was lying stretched out under the sofa, dropping it in front of her paws. The larger cat stared haughtily at the mouse before turning away, disinterested. Momentarily, the kitten looked discouraged but quickly perked up; once again he picked up the mouse, this time dropping it at John's feet.

'Good cat,' John said encouragingly, scratching the kitten behind his ears. The kitten purred contentedly.

'Sherlock,' John called to his flatmate. 'What should we do with this mouse?'

'Dispose of it, John. He's _your_ kitten, after all.'

'Yes,' John smiled broadly. 'He is, isn't he? And we'd thank you to use his real name.'

Sherlock scowled imperiously. 'I'm not calling him that. It's foolish. And spiteful.'

'Why not, Sherlock? It's only fair,' John taunted. 'Turnabout is always fair play.'

Sherlock sighed heavily, beleaguered. '_Fine_,' he ground out, grimacing. '_Mycroft_ is your kitten, after all.'

John grinned once more. 'Come on, Mycroft. Let's leave Sherlock alone for a while.' And with that, he and his kitten trounced out of the room.


End file.
